


Soaked to the Skin

by theskywasblue



Series: Summer of Love 2020 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M, Sex Pollen, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: It had all seemed like a joke at first - a lust spell? Big fucking deal.Big. Fucking. Deal.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Summer of Love 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816525
Comments: 15
Kudos: 238
Collections: Fuck or die (Destiel)





	Soaked to the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> For Summer of Love 2020 "Shower Sex". Decided to also throw a sex-pollen/fuck or die scenario in there because...well why not. I don't think I've ever written that for these two. It seemed like fun.

“Okay, I have to - I just have to…”

Dean stopped pacing. His footsteps on the hard floor seemed incredibly loud; loud enough to echo off the inside of his skull. He tangled both hands in his hair, pressing down with his palms as if that could possibly ease the pressure. Fuck, it was hot. His shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back. His jeans chafed against his thighs. He peeled off the flannel over his T-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. 

It was getting bad, he realized. Worse than he thought it would be. It had all seemed like a joke at first - a lust spell? Big fucking deal. 

Big. Fucking. Deal. 

It had seemed like a no-brainer. If he was alone, if he just closed his door, turned off the lights, he’d be fine. Sam could work on a counter-curse; and if Dean got really desperate in the meantime, he could just rub one out. 

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. Like, physically fucking couldn’t. Every time Dean thought about putting a hand near his dick, it was actually physically painful; like driving the tip of his tongue into the pulp of a broken tooth, pain that was hot and electric and pounding. He had even tried humping against his pillow like some keyed up teenager - no hands involved there - but he’d got as far as one thrust and almost puked on the floor because it felt like his skull was literally going to crack down the middle.

Dean pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets - harder, harder - until it felt like he might pop his own eyeballs. He could feel sweat running in cold rivulets down his sides. His mouth felt like the damn Sahara desert. He reached for the bottle of water on his bedside table, fumbled with the cap, which slipped from his fingers and skittered away across the floor as he emptied the bottle into his mouth, splashing at least half of it down his chin and the front of his shirt. He licked his lips, wiped his face with the back of his hand and licked that too. The salt taste of his own skin made his stomach clench. 

He was still fucking thirsty. 

Dean grabbed the door, but the knob twisted uselessly in his hand. He pulled, but it wouldn’t give way. Sam had locked him in somehow. 

“Sam!” He pounded his fists on the door, suddenly claustrophobic. “Sammy!” He needed to get out of this room. He needed water. He needed…

“Dean?”

At the sound of Cas’ voice, Dean felt a hot surge of wanting flood through his body. He recoiled, staggering away from the door as the whole room spun around him. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, his vision black at the edges. He needed to sit, except instead of finding the bed or the desk chair, he hit the floor, knocking over his lamp as he went down. 

“Dean, are you alright? I’m coming in.”

Dean tried to argue, but the wind was knocked out of him. Instead, he propped himself roughly against the side of the bed with his eyes crushed shut, and tried to level out his breathing. 

“Dean.” He could feel the air shift; could tell just by the way the sound in the room changed how close Cas was to him. Fuck, he could even _smell_ Cas - burnt ozone, fresh coffee, dry feathers and honey. 

Dean pressed a hand over his face. “Where - where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the library.”

“I called for _Sam_.”

Sam would be safer. Sam was his brother. Sometimes Cas made Dean breathless in a normal situation, and this was nothing anywhere near _normal_. This was fucking dangerous. 

“He called me,” Cas explained, speaking slowly, like he was trying to be sure that Dean understood every word. “Some of the things he was finding in his research are...concerning.”

“Con-concerning how, exactly?” Dean really wanted the fear he felt to dampen his fucking hard-on, but it wasn’t working. 

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t -“

Dean’s hand fell to his side. “Concerning fucking _how_ , Cas?”

Cas was crouched on the floor - close, but not too close. Not as close as it felt like he was. Not as close as Dean wanted him to be. He looked worried. Almost genuinely afraid. 

“The curse won’t allow you to - uh -“ his eyes flickered away for a moment. That alone was so weird that it was almost enough to clear Dean’s head a little. “To satisfy yourself.”

Dean laughed, raggedly, “Yeah, I figured that much out already.”

Cas continued, “Those under the influence of the spell have been known to act impulsively. And not be particularly discerning about their partners. Or their willingness to participate. Sam called me in case he needed...backup.”

Dean let his head drop back against the edge of the mattress. “Son of a bitch.”

“We will find a solution, Dean. How are you feeling right now?”

“Honestly? Not very good, Cas.” He was sweating like a cornered nun, and his skin felt about two sizes too small. His balls ached, and where his dick was trapped behind his zipper, Dean could feel it throbbing, leaking into his shorts.

Maybe Sam was right to worry about him going out of his mind with this.

“Maybe a cold shower,” he managed, finally. It couldn’t hurt. It had certainly done wonders when he was fifteen.

“Alright, can you stand?”

He could, but it wasn’t the easiest thing that Dean had ever done. It was pretty obvious that there was basically zero blood making its way to his brain, right at that moment. The room swayed, the walls seemed to throb. When he stumbled in the hallway, Cas reached out to steady him on instinct, and the brush of his fingertips against Dean’s arm was enough to make Dean’s breath catch.

He had his shirt off before he reached the bathroom. Jeans once he was barely through the door. He couldn’t even look at himself as he pushed his shorts down and peeled off his socks. It felt like there was a lead weight between his legs as he staggered to the shower. He cranked the cold water and it struck his back and shoulders like a hail of bullets, viciously cold against his overheated skin, enough to make him groan out loud and slap his palms against the tile. It wasn’t the relief he’d hoped for at all, but it steadied him a little. Maybe if he could stand there and tough it out until Sam and Cas found whatever counter-curse they needed, he’d be fine. 

Dean gritted his chattering teeth and swallowed the urge to scream. 

“Dean.” 

The sound of Cas’ voice echoing off the walls made him flinch. “Go away, Cas. This is private.”

“You can’t stay like that forever.” He was moving closer, Dean could tell by the sound. Hell, he could almost count the molecules in the air between him and Cas. That wasn’t so unusual, but now it was dialed up to eleven. “This isn’t working.”

“I know,” Dean fought against his chattering teeth. His feet were going numb. When he looked down at himself, the sight of his aching dick made him jerk his hips helplessly against nothing. “I know, Cas. I - fuck - you gotta _help me_.”

Maybe angel mojo could dull it a little, even if it couldn’t lift the curse. Hell, Cas could knock him over the fucking head, and Dean would thank him when he woke up. 

Instead, a minute later, a bare arm reached around him and cranked up the hot water. 

“Breathe, Dean.”

But he couldn’t. Not until Cas’ palm settled heavily between his shoulder blades, pushed up to the back of his neck, then dragged back down, slowly, again and again. It felt painfully good; enough to make Dean shake like he was still freezing, even though the water was starting to steam. 

“It’s going to be alright.”

Dean felt like his skin was buzzing, everywhere Cas touched, everywhere he was close to touching. “You can’t Cas. You don’t have to do this.”

Cas palmed the back of his neck, steady, solid. “I will do whatever I can to help you, Dean. I’m happy to do it.”

“Cas.” It was definitely, embarrassingly, a sob, this time. Dean reached back, touched what he was sure was Cas’ bare thigh, fumbled and found his wrist, pulling Cas’ hand towards his crotch. 

The touch was immediately almost blindingly good, even as it felt like being kicked in the solar plexus. Dean was coming before he was even sure _what_ he was feeling. The relief was momentary at best. His hard-on barely flagged, but at least for a minute, he could almost think clearly; he could feel something aside from a desperate, burning need. That _something_ could feel was Cas, warm and heavy against his back. And very naked. Dean shuddered. 

“Are you alright?” Cas’ voice sounded rougher than usual, jagged at the edges. Dean reached back, touching his bare thigh with cautious fingers. 

“Yeah, I’m okay Cas.”

Cas’ hand drew away from his cock, and immediately Dean wanted it back. Instead, it curled around Dean’s hip, holding him in place. “That was different than I thought it would be.”

Dean managed a laugh, “All you did was touch my dick.”

“I know.”

 _Fuck_. Dean shuddered again, and felt Cas rock into it a little, his dick sliding against Dean’s ass.

“You...think a lot about touching my dick, Cas?” If he’d had more blood in his brain and less in his dick, Dean wouldn’t have asked. 

“Yes,” Cas huffed, typically exasperated, as if that was something Dean should just know by now. 

Hell, maybe he _did_ know. Which was exactly why he’d told Sam, at the beginning of this monumental screw up, _don’t tell Cas_.

Cas rubbed his cheek against Dean’s wet shoulder. “I realize that might not be what you want to hear.”

Dean had already lost the thread of the conversation, if he was honest. He felt himself sliding his feet a little further apart on the tile, rocking minutely back against Cas. “I thought about it too. Fuck, Cas. I thought about it a lot.”

Cas was stroking his back again, trying to calm him, maybe, like Dean was a startled animal. “What else did you think about?”

“Fuck, Cas - don’t make me say it.”

At the sensation of Cas’ fingers sliding over the skin behind his balls, Dean made a frantic sound he definitely wouldn’t have been proud of in any other situation. They were slick with something - spit, maybe soap; Dean honestly didn’t care. All he cared about was the way they didn’t tease, didn’t hesitate, just pushed inside him, almost like they could reach for that burning rock of need in his gut. They twisted inside him - not rough, but merciless; like Cas knew that Dean wouldn’t have the patience for anything else. When they pulled back, Dean groaned and pressed his forehead to the tile. Cas’ mouth pressed against the base of Dean’s neck, agonizingly soft, like an apology; and then the head of Cas’ cock pushed - blunt and hot - against him. 

Dean wasn’t sure he could feel pain, with the state he was in. He was even less sure he would care if he did. But he tried to be ready for it anyway; tried to relax and breathe. But the minute Cas started pushing forward, it was like all of Dean’s nerves were instantly flayed raw. All he could do was shake a groan, loud and long and wordless, until Cas was flush against him, one hand still pressed to Dean’s back, the other wrapped tight enough around Dean’s bicep to make Dean’s fingers tingle. 

“Dean - Dean are you…”

“Yeah.” Dean was surprised he had a voice. His throat felt like he’d spent a whole night with a bottle of Jim Beam and a carton of cheap smokes. “I’m good, Cas. C’mon. You’re doin’ good.”

Water splashed Dean’s face, trickled into his open mouth, sluiced down his back. The world narrowed to sensations, without room for thought: water droplets striking his overheated skin, Cas’ fingers digging pin-point bruises into his hip, Cas’ lips on his shoulder, Cas moving inside him. Cas, Cas, Cas…

“I know,” Cas answered, pulling Dean closer, canting his hips at an angle that made Dean whine breathlessly. “I know Dean, I’m here. I’m here.”

If Dean’s first orgasm had been a gut punch, this one was like having a hole punched straight through his chest. Cas fucked him almost all the way through it, then clung to him as Dean gasped, gulping air and cooling water, weak-kneed with sheer relief, come painted all across the tile in front of him. 

“Dean?” Cas was still touching him, gentle and cautious, all over. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He sank, gracelessly to the shower floor. Cas turned off the water. A minute later, he was passing Dean a towel. 

Wordlessly, with the towel draped mostly over his head, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to look up, Dean patted the tile next to him. When Cas sat, Dean stole a glance at him. He looked good, maybe a little stunned; his face flushed, dark hair plastered to his head. 

“How do you feel?” Cas asked. 

Dean buried his face in the towel again. “Uh - okay. Yeah. Took the edge off.” Not all the way off, but he definitely felt better; back somewhere close to where he’d been five or six hours ago, when the curse first hit him and he thought he could handle it himself. 

“Uh, thanks. Thanks Cas. I appreciate it.” Dean winced at himself. The words sounded stupider out loud even than he’d figured they would. But what else was he supposed to say: I appreciate you being willing to fuck me senseless so that I don’t literally die of a cursed case of blue balls?

Cas snorted. “It wasn’t exactly a hardship for me, Dean.”

“Yeah. I got that impression.” The way he’d shook against Dean’s back, his breath hot against Dean’s neck...Dean tried to shut out the vivid sense-memory of Cas’ hands stroking his sides, otherwise he’d be back in the shit well before he wanted to be. 

“Unfortunately it won’t be a cure,” Cas continued, pretending not to notice Dean’s slight squirming. “The curse is designed to make the sufferer fornicate to the point of extreme exhaustion - and then death.”

Dean let that sink in for a moment. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t say _fornicate_ again, okay?” He finally pulled the towel away from his face. Cas was scowling at him. 

“Why?”

“Just don’t,” Dean slapped him on the thigh. That turned out to be a very bad idea. Dean wadded the towel into his lap, embarrassed. “So - what’s angel stamina like - ya know. Generally?”

Cas was, politely, keeping his eyes turned slightly upwards, as if the join of the wall and the ceiling on the other side of the room was extremely interesting. “I’ve never had the opportunity to put it to this exact use, but...I expect it would exceed the endurance of a human partner. _Generally_.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, feeling slightly lightheaded as he said, “Oh. Good.”

-End-


End file.
